Hawks and Spiders
by u17203008
Summary: How I imagine Hawkeye and Black Widow's first meeting and consequent missions went down. Not compliant with comics, and occurs before events leading up to and beyond the Avengers. Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

AU:

This is my first story. So please feel free to criticize any and all mistakes I made, as I will sorely need it to improve. I will update when I can, if I can, and probably not regularly. So, if you're expecting a story with continuous uploads, I'd suggest you not start reading this one. But, if you have some patience with my newbie mistakes, I hope you'll enjoy…

Chapter 1

When Nick Fury suggested I take down some female assassin, instead of giving the job to a random lower ranking rookie, I laughed in his face.

I thought he was crazy, willing to send S.H.I.E.L.D's only assassin on a mission that should have taken only 2 or 3 normal field agents. Luckily, for me, Phil had the same thoughts as me on it, and convinced Fury otherwise, all with my smirk firmly in place. A few months later though, I had to lose that smirk when those 2 or 3 agents came back in body bags.

Three more weeks, and another three agents in critical later, even I had to confess that yeah, maybe this kill order was up my alley.

When the mission finally landed in my lap, it hadn't been approved by only Fury and Coulson, but the world security council as well, which meant I either take her out, or die trying. And I'm not planning on dying.

So I go through my weapons checks, nervous energy thrumming through my body as I try to calm my thoughts. My bow and arrows have been meticulously chosen and packed, but it's a habit of mine to compulsively check and recheck all of my gear, adding and removing a few things as I decide what could be useful and what classifies as unnecessary weight.

Before leaving the weapons room, I grab a few trick arrow heads I can screw on later. They're a bitch to screw onto an arrow during a shoot-out. But they have saved my live on a number of missions where I got cornered, outnumbered, or both.

Finally satisfied with my weapons array, I leave the main compound in favor of the hangar.

As we take off, I recheck and clean my gear. This isn't so much a nervous tick as ingrained instinct. Before every mission I go over all my back-up weapons, checking for any signs that one could fail me in the field.

I've been in the business long enough to know that, in life-threatening situations, a jammed gun could mean the difference between coming home on crutches or in a body bag. And since my damned job-description is life-threatening situations, I tend to be dramatically obsessive when it comes to my weapons.

Until I joined S.H.I.E.L.D, it didn't matter much to me whether I came back from a hit dead or alive.

I wouldn't scream or beg for my life if someone threatened it. I would probably just laugh at the thug and tell them to pull the damn trigger. I wouldn't end my life, but I wasn't going to prevent my life from ending either.

And then S.H.I.E.L.D. happened. Or more accurately, then Coulson found me. He showed me that life was more than just the next mission, that there were a million reasons to want to live. He told me to go find some of my own.

And if seeing Coulson every day for the rest of my life was my first reason? Well, who could blame me?

Except now I'm kind of having second thoughts on this mission. The Widow had proven herself as someone not to be trifled with. And I've had this unshakeable feeling for the last few weeks now, that this might be the one mission I wouldn't be walking away from.

But if the Widow is probably going to take my ass out, I might as well take a shot at her first. It was my life philosophy at some stage. If you know you're going down, you take as many enemies as you can right along with you.

Phil once said that's why I sucked at chess. He knew I was a brilliant strategist. He also knew I had a tendency to go Kamikaze on his ass when I felt threatened.

Instead of backing out of the danger zone, I took out as many of Phil's chest pieces as I could before finally losing my piece.

Phil said it was a mortal flaw, but I dropped that attitude around the same time I found my reason to actively live again.

Once I land on the roof I'll be staying in, I enter the building from one of the side windows and start setting up.

Right now it's barely more than a warehouse. But once I'm done with it, it will be effectively converted into a safe house/base of operations. First things first: surveillance.

I start roaming the street when I'm happy with my new ground zero. I need to know what the actual area looks like before the Widow arrives. Having read her file I know what kind of hiding spots, alleys, nooks, and crannies to take note of. And I want to sniff out and bug them all before she makes an appearance.

Of course she will easily find and debug every device I place, once she decides to use those spots. But that's my actual trap. Because she would be giving away her position, telling me exactly where I will be most likely to find her.

In the end I go out for two actual reasons: to find places worthy of debugging, and to get a street view of the town. But truthfully? It's just honest excuses to go grab dinner and allow myself the freedom to move around. I hate the waiting period sometimes, even if my patience is one of the skills I'm renowned for.

She doesn't make me wait long though, arriving around the beginning of my second week in town. She seems to fall for my tricks as well, debugging the spots she will be using. Of course, I know it could be some trap of her own, so I keep well out of range; keep her at a distance.

Too bad she seems to know I operate long-range, as she keeps getting too close, playing some kind of cat and mouse game.

Seriously, the nerve she has, blocking out the vision of one of my cameras… with a toy spider!

Of course, it wasn't her that left the spider there. It was been a small boy singing the itsy bitsy spider as he moved around the toy spider, before placing it neatly in front of my device. I hope she compensated the kid with a burger and chips or something.

In the end my curiosity got the better of me, allowing me to make a rookie mistake. I went down to go see the damn spider, and of course it was a Black Widow. But color me surprised when I found an object just outside the range of the ordinary surveillance cameras.

A Starbucks white hot chocolate, still steaming, beckoned me to pick it up. It's my favorite. And I know better than to think she just made a lucky guess. Next to it she had left a note: "Birds aren't the only things that hunt spiders, and snakes aren't partial either,"

Okay, so I'm in deep shit, because one; I actually smile when I see my favorite drink waiting for me, like I'm impressed with her ability to stalk me without my noticing. And two; if her threat is just that, a warning, it means we aren't the only threats in town. Which means that Three; I'm about to come under fire from two different sides, without any back up, whatsoever.

But yeah, I drink the coffee anyway, because why would she poison me if she'd just alerted me to an unperceived threat in a roundabout way? I go over all my tapes again the moment I get back. And there she is; smiling at another camera closest to my spider-bombed bug, holding up my hot-chocolate in cheers before taking a sip, and then walking off camera. I hold up my mug right along with hers before smiling and taking my own first sip.

And now I'm in deep shit, because for the first time in my entire career, I'm entertaining the thought of not killing my target.

I've disobeyed a lot of orders before, walked out on superiors, saluted the higher ups with one finger held proudly in the air… but one thing I've never done? Failed a mission.

It's why they let me get away with the shit I pull, why they allow me to be their daily migraine. Because no matter how many times they thought of killing me, and I know they do, I always got shit done. I have never failed a mission.

And yet here I am, planning on maybe failing my first… But I shake it off, and decide to at least not kill her with her own trademark weapon. If I have to, I'll let her die by mine.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When I'm ready, I grab my bow and quiver and get as close to her as I dare. On the roof of the building opposite hers, I notch an arrow and aim it through the window right at her. I'm about to release it when she turns around and looks me dead in the eye. I hear the sound of a gun safety being removed, meaning there's no way she could have missed it.

Fear shining in her eyes, she gives me a slight, stiff nod, standing tall, resigned in the knowledge that she will die. She has exactly two choices; get killed by me, or whoever is behind her. And now? What do I do now?

I pull the bowstring back to my ear and wait. The moment the door behind her opens, I release my arrow, and then shoot two more in quick succession. All three of her assailants are dead before they hit the ground.

But the Widow hadn't even flinched. Then her gun is out of her thigh holster aimed straight at me. So then this was how my death would come? I can accept this as a good way to go.

She pulls the trigger, but the bullets don't even graze me. I turn around to find two bodies dressed in the same tactical gear as the ones behind her.

I don't need to inspect the three I had killed to know they also have a three headed snake insignia on their clothes.

 _Hydra?_ I sign at her, not willing to shout and give away my status to anyone else yet. She raises her hand, knocking the air twice, _Yes._ Huh, and I thought the agency had crumbled completely when Captain America hit the ice.

 _You with me?_ I sign again. She knocks twice, but keeps signing, _If you kill me after… there's worse ways to go._ I shake my head at her, holding my open hand up before closing my fingers like a duck closing its beak. No, I'm not going to kill her.

 _Meet downstairs_ I sign, before turning and heading down. We both leave our respective buildings simultaneously. Before one of us gets to say anything though, we get fired at and have to dive for cover.

Taking cover behind a car, I start shooting down snipers with my gun. Arrows might be cool and useful for tight corners, but guns are faster and I'm not stupid. A group of them situated on one roof is tag-teaming though.

I need a second to screw on one of my trick arrow heads, the one equipped with a grenade, so I can take care of the bloody annoyance. But then the ground team will have my ass served on a platter.

And then she's there, right beside me, covering me while I screw on the head. "You know, this isn't where I thought I would find myself when I came to Budapest," she says, shooting down a few sneaky bastards that had previously been edging around the car.

"Yeah," I mutter, finally able to notch the arrow, "What were you expecting, hot tourists and sandy beaches?" But some of my sarcasm gets lost as I edge around the car to let my arrow fly.

She raises an eyebrow. An explosion goes off, letting me know the bloody watchdogs have been dealt with. "A hot new coffin inside a nice sandy grave," she softly answers my rhetorical question, then goes back to shooting the cocky ones that get too close.

I smile then, happy I didn't kill her despite all the shit Fury is bound to give me. So I take a breath, notch another arrow, and start picking off strays.

We fall into an easy rhythm, covering the other when one has to reload. We both decide it's time to wrap this up quickly when I run out of arrows.

When the fight is over, I collect my arrows, inspecting them, and then sorting them into groups depending on their level of damage.

I expected her to run by the time I'm finally done. But she's still there, watching me closely. "You saved me, why?" she asks, sounding confused. "You wanted to die. For some reason, I couldn't let you," I tell her honestly.

"I don't want to die," she snaps. I raise an eyebrow, "And I didn't save you," I say sarcastically. She opens her mouth to argue, but I continue before she decides to kill me after all, "Let me rephrase then; you were okay with me killing you and I wasn't. You're asking me why I wasn't, right?" She nods her head. "For many reasons, one of them being that you remind me of someone… myself actually, before my handler found me."

I don't elaborate. Going back to my safe house, I grab what I need and leave the rest for S.H.I.E.L.D. to clean up.

She seems in thought for a while. "I would like to speak to Fury," she doesn't ask. She orders me. "Excuse me?" her knowing my boss doesn't come as much of a surprise. Her actually wanting to see Fury? That does.

"I might be interested in a job offer." Well then. I raise my eyebrows.

She seems to deflate a little. "Look, I kind of turned my back on my employers. I've been running from them ever since. And killing the rookies they send after me isn't keeping them off my back anymore. Having some back up, being part of an agency they fear? Well, it would give me some space to breathe. And I have an offer Fury won't refuse."

When I look like I might question her further, she raises an eyebrow, "The way I see it you got a choice. Either bring me in or put me down, but don't let _them_ be the ones who get me," she seems to lose that iron grip over her emotions for a second, allowing me to see the raw terror she has for her old employers.

And that decided it. I took her in to S.H.I.E.L.D. and whatever her offer was, Fury allowed her to stay.

But of course he would punish me for not following orders… again. She would be my partner once her training was complete. At least I managed to complete my mission, even if it wasn't to the letter.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Phil wants to have a word with me when we finally leave Fury's office. So I point… Romanoff… down a hallway, where her new sleeping quarters have been arranged. New recruits are kept together, and close to the main facilities to make finding their feet a little easier.

And even though Natasha isn't a rookie, and will only go through part of S.H.I.L.E.D.'s training program… well, Fury doesn't trust her, even after she vowed to help take down what's left of Hydra.

So I leave her to get as she settled as she can while sharing a room with five newbies, while I head to my handler's office.

Phil is pissed, well, as pissed as he can get when I do things behind his back. He gestures at me to sit down, and then proceeds with his paperwork.

"Oh stop the silent treatment. We both know you're not really that mad at me anyway," I blurt when my body refuses to just, be still. He finally looks up at me. His face showing what it always does; bland indifference. I still can't read him, and so I wait for him to speak.

"I'm not mad at you," and that's how you tell what agent Phil Coulson is thinking. It's in the way he says stuff, the words he decides to use. Not in his tone, but in his phrases… tells you more than he realizes. And right now… well right now…

It's a knee-jerk reaction and I hate when it rears its head, but this time I mean it with very cell in my body; "I'm sorry… Phil," even if I don't know exactly _what exactly_ I'm apologizing for. He's disappointed.

"No Clint, you haven't done anything wrong. You've never disappointed me." I look back up at him, confused. But then why does he still exude disappointment? Maybe, "I failed you?"

He shakes his head, and looks me in the eye. "I'm actually stuck between ecstatically proud of you and heavily disappointed in myself," he tells me, letting true joy show in his eyes. Now I feel even more confused.

"Clint, I was scared you were getting too good at following through on orders. I was afraid that we had failed you, that we had taken you out of a bad situation, only to turn you into a mindless killer. I was afraid that the amount of sanctioned hits we kept sending you on was eating away at your humanity. I never wanted that for you. You mean more to me than that," he searches my face, making sure I understand.

I allow my thoughts to reflect in my expression. Finding what he's looking for in order to go on, he continues, "And then. Out of the blue, without my help or guidance, you go and save a life. If it was the life of an innocent, I might have understood. But you save someone with more blood on her hands than all of us put together. And I'm ashamed to say it, but I don't know why. You left me out of the loop son, and I'd like back in."

I understand now. He's fine with me semi-failing my mission. He's not okay with having no idea as to why. "You're not a bad handler Phil. My actions surprised even myself," I tell him, making sure he knows that it's okay for him to not always know what's going on in my head.

He nods, understanding what I'm trying to explain in as few words as possible. "You want to know why, and I can't exactly tell you, because I'm still not sure myself. All I know is; she wanted to die and I wasn't going to let her," I tell him honestly.

"She reminds me of me when I first joined S.H.I.E.L.D." I go on. When Phil looks like it still doesn't make complete sense, I reiterate our last heart-to-heart.

"Remember when you told me to find reasons to live? Well, you were the first. Knowing I would get to see you tomorrow if I survived today, it grounded me," I know this might be hard to explain, so I take a deep breath.

"But seeing her actually resign herself to dying, seeing on her face that she believed she deserved it? Well, it made me want to prove her wrong. And how can I do that when she's dead?" huh? Well, it turns out explaining it is quite easy.

Phil seems to mull over it, and then he responds with an actual, honest to god, smile. "Good," he tells me. But what he doesn't say tells me a lot more. That he understands more than I think he does. Back to being his normal, impassive cocky self, he kicks me out of his office as he continues with his paperwork.

I decide to go sleep the day off, but I want to check in on Romanoff first, so I go back to her room. When I step in I don't know whether I should laugh, get help, or throw myself bodily between her and the other girls.

She's threatening one with a spoon, keeping her cornered near the far end of the room, while the rest seems to be hiding in another corner, one delicately holding her arm close to her chest.

Instead of doing what I really want, which is to scare the newbies more just because I can, I use my trainer voice. "What the hell is going on here?" I ask, startling everyone except Romanoff.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

She throws me a side-long glance, before slamming the girl back into the wall when she tries to make a break for it. The rest of the girls look like they're watching a tennis match, their eyes flashing to Romanoff and back to me again, probably wondering why she isn't fazed by my appearance.

"Romanoff, please release the recruit," I ask in what I hope is a placating voice.

Romanoff is about to back off, but the trapped girl seems to have more brains then sense, "Please get this stupid bitch off me!" she tries to sound all brave and unaffected. But her façade is ruined when Romanoff leans closer, getting in the girl's face, "This stupid bitch can hand the Hawk his ass in a close-combat fight blind-folded, both hands tied behind her back. Keep insulting her and you'll find out exactly what else she can do."

Finally she turns her back on the girl to look at me, even though I can see her attention is still completely on the girl. I have enough faith in her to know she won't pull something like this without a reason.

She seems to lose a little tension, stepping away from the girl and closer to me as she smirks. "What happened?" I ask again, this time in a normal tone and looking at her for an explanation. "They thought it was hazing day, seemed to forget they were newbies as well. So I reminded them," she shrugs, watching me closely for a reaction.

"Good girl," I smirk. She raises an eyebrow, letting me know I'll pay for that comment at some point. "Yeah well, they were going about it in a clumsy way. Decided to use a fucking air horn to wake a… well, me. I might have broken that one's arm. You should probably take her to medical."

I immediately go to the girl she pointed out, "Uhuh and then?" I check her arm. Definitely broken. Then I see the newly formed bruises on the limbs of the rest. She did quite a number on them.

"Then nothing. I was threatened. I handled it," She states flatly. I look at the girl still standing in the corner. She's trying her hardest to look unconcerned. "Do you have a death wish?" I ask her. The girl beside me gasps in her next breath. On instinct, I lift her shirt a little to assess the damage and catch another bruise spreading quickly over the exposed skin. I'm a little impressed that she isn't curled into a ball and crying.

"Romanoff, I think you cracked at least one rib, and the rest need medical attention as well. I'll just call medical down. I'm guessing you're the one that got roped into pressing the air horn?" I ask the girl, letting go of her arm.

She nods her head. Then I looked around the room, looking each girl in the eye to make sure I have their attention.

"Never ever. Ever. Wake a trained agent in that way, ever. I hope you all realize she could have killed you. So could any other trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, if woken up unexpectedly. I know you're just trainees and you don't know any better, but this is NOT high-school or college. We do not haze agents. We do not turn our back on our own, and we most definitely do not try to make life harder for a fellow agent than it already is.

In here, none of you have ever been on a mission gone FUBAR. None of you know what it's like to be in enemy territory, unable to sleep for fear of attack. Out there, agents are fighting the after-effects of having their partners tortured, or killed, or both, in front of them, are reliving missions gone badly every second of their daily lives. And an agent that is provoking another agent to attack is a liability to S.H.I.E.L.D."

I look back at the girl in the corner. "Were you the instigator?" she drops her head, refusing to look at me. "I hope you realize you just threatened the Black Widow," there's a sharp intake of breath from some of the girls. I guess word travels slower than I thought.

I'm about to go out to call medical, when I look back at Romanoff. She seems like she's aching for a good fight. And there's no way the girls will be getting any sleep. Not if I were to leave Romanoff in the room with them. So I make a suggestion, "You want to go down to the gym, spar before lights out?" She stares at me for a few seconds, "Lights out was an hour and twenty four minutes ago," she points out.

"That's for newbies. The rest of us have lights out when it fits our schedule. Mine isn't due for a few more hours," I joke, before walking out the room. She'll follow me soon enough. There's no way she will want to stay with them. I alert the medics, and then head for the gym.

We settle on the rules first, no biting, scratching, or breaking bones, then proceed to spar. I barely have her pinned once before she gets the upper hand. The rest of the time I'm fighting my hardest to not get thrown to the mat and pinned down.

She's downright scary up close. She moves too fast for me to get any good kicks or punches in, and tends to only directly attack if I make a grab for her. And she has a habit of getting close… too close. Having a woman's thighs wrapped around my head has suddenly turned into a very unappealing thought. She has me pinned like that for three times in a row, before the move gets added to an ever-growing list of banned holds. It's just too easy for her to use those moves so we ban them as valid moves or else neither of us will get any real practice.

After our work out, I'm aching, sweating, and dying for a shower, food, and sleep.

"I'll talk to Coulson about alternative accommodation tomorrow. But I have a guest room in my apartment if you want to get some sleep tonight?"

"Lead the way," she tells me, unconcerned. We settle into an easy routine once I reach my door on the level for agent accommodation.

I microwave and eat my dinner, while Romanoff takes a shower, and clean up once I've taken my own shower. Then we go our separate ways, and I don't know about her but I sleep a little more deeply, knowing there's a second set of ears to listen for danger.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N

Ok, so I just want to add that this story has been completed for a long time. Meaning it's complete and lying in my computer, but it needs editing. And I hate editing. So the rate of uploads depend solely on whether or not I have the time or inclination to re-read, edit, and upload chapters. So far so good though. Turns out I actually enjoy my younger self's imagination, if not her horrible grammar.

In case anyone might get lost, I've decided to add the lost paragraph of the previous chapter for easy reference:

" _Lead the way," she tells me, unconcerned. We settle into an easy routine once I reach my door on the level for agent accommodation._

 _I microwave and eat my dinner, while Romanoff takes a shower, and clean up once I've taken my own shower. Then we go our separate ways, and I don't know about her but I sleep a little more deeply, knowing there's a second set of ears to listen for danger._

Chapter 5

I come out of my deep slumber when my sensitive ears pick up the sound of the guest room door opening. Hearing the coffee pot brewing I burrow a little deeper into my blanket, not quite ready to wake up. But when the smell of coffee hits me, I'm out of bed, dressed in my tactical gear, and moving down to the kitchen before my eyes have fully opened.

"Mornin'," I mumble taking a seat as she prepares our mugs. "Milk, sugar?" She asks me. "You already know my favorite drink, I find it hard to believe you don't know how I like my coffee," I say sardonically. I'm only half-joking. It's easy to follow me to Starbucks every day and figure out my regular order. I don't really expect her to actually know how I like my coffee.

She gives me a half-smile, "Common courtesy, I guess." Turning back, she quickly finishes making our coffee. When she brings the mugs and allows me to take mine, my eyebrows raise. I take a sip and almost choke, before retrieving my jaw from the floor. It's perfect. Exactly the way I like it. "You know, I have a healthy fear for you most days, but when you do shit like this… you downright scare the crap out of me," I tell her, continuing to sip my brew.

She laughs… almost… I think. She's out the door as soon as her mug is empty, leaving me with my thoughts for the morning. When I'm fed and ready to go, I make my way back to Coulson's office. He looks up from his desk, waving me into his office. "This morning Fury told me you have a new partner once she finishes her basic training. You should've told me yesterday."

"I'm sorry sir. I forgot. I actually have a favor to ask for her sir," I look at Phil. He knows I only ever use my respectful, subordinate voice when what I'm asking is serious. He stops what he's doing, and gives me his full attention; "Go on."

"Her current accommodation isn't working out so well. The recruits tried the college version of a welcome party last night, sir. They tried to haze an assassin," I step fully into the office and close the door before taking a seat, as I start my appeal.

"I am under the impression she's fully capable of handling it herself," I raise an eyebrow at that. "It's not her I'm worried about. She demonstrated surprising restraint in dealing with them, yet she still managed to break at least one arm and bruise a couple ribs. If it was me they woke like that… I think we might have had a few less recruits to train. It's not even about that. They are going to keep testing her patience, and I doubt she has a lot of it, even if everyone got out alive, this time," I finish. Coulson nods his head, "I'll speak to Fury. But you know he can take a while to change his mind if he feels like it." I nod and leave for the shooting range.

When I get there the recruits are busy cleaning firearms. Well, the recruits minus the newbies from Romanoff's room. They're still in med-bay, nursing their wounds. I get my bow from its special compartment, grabbing a quiver of arrows as I head for the archery range, which had been added especially for me. "Hey Robin Hood, isn't the archery thing a little outdated?"

A hush falls over the room. It was a male's voice, so he's obviously not part of the group of geniuses from last night. God, the newbies are getting cockier by the day.

"You assembled your gun yet?" I ask, looking straight at the culprit. He's trying to hide behind a friend's shoulder, obviously not expecting me to call him out. He loses some of his confidence, but not the ego, nodding his head with a cocky grin still plastered over his face "Good, get your ass over here, and try not to hurt yourself doing it."

He runs over looking somewhat chagrined. I smirk at him, "Shoot the target." He seems dumbfounded, "Huh?" being his eloquent reply.

"You're in a shooting range, aren't you? There are over a dozen target boards all around us. Choose one. Point. Shoot," I calmly wait for him to start walking towards one. When he does, my smirk turns predatory. "No recruit. Shoot it from here." I can barely see the targets over the heads of the other recruits, and am putting all my chips on him being too chicken shit to even lift the gun in his hands.

"But sir, it's impossible to shoot a target from here. I can barely see them and the others are in my way. I'd probably just shoot them by accident if I tried." He has some brains, along with a spine. He'll make a good agent one day. But right now he's an unnecessary pain in my ass, so knocking him down a notch might do him some good.

"Exactly," I tell him, notching, and releasing an arrow in the span of a split-second. I don't need to see the target clearly, to know my arrow pegged it dead-center.

"What's your name recruit?" He straightens up, challenge shining in his eyes, "Rumlow, sir." I nod my head. "Don't get too cocky, and we might be able to shape you into a half-decent agent. I'd hate to see you killed just because you gave that mouth of yours free reign in front of the wrong people."

I'm about to continue on to my actual destination, when he seems to lose control of his tongue again. "Is that a threat… sir?" Damn, the kid has a death wish. I turn around. "No kid. It's a warning. My threats are usually accompanied by the breaking of at least two bones," I leave them to their own devices, having had enough of chicken shits for one day.

A few minutes later I hear shooting from the gun range, so their trainer must have finally decided to show up. Good.

When I finish my morning drills, it's almost time for lunch, so I go to put away my used weapons. When I get back to the shooting range though, I have a hard time not bursting out in laughter. The Widow is sitting near the far wall, shooting my arrow into pieces, the very same one I've left in the target this morning.

"You know, up until the point you decided to kill it, my arrow was still reusable." She lifts an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling in mischief as she fires another round across the room. Her bullet splits what was left of the arrow down the middle, leaving a mess of splinters and metal behind. "If you wanted it back, you shouldn't have left it." She tells me sardonically. I try not to smile at her antics.


	6. Chapter 6

AN

Another chapter. Because I'm awesome. Kinda

Previously:

"You know, up until the point you decided to kill it, my arrow was still reusable." She lifts an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling in mischief as she fires another round across the room. Her bullet splits what was left of the arrow down the middle, leaving a mess of splinters and metal behind. "If you wanted it back, you shouldn't have left it." She tells me sardonically. I try not to smile at her antics.

Chapter 6

"You want to join me for lunch?" I ask timidly. "Naah. I think I'm just going to go find a sparring partner. That Rumlow guy seems like he can take a hit," I chuckle. "Yeah, I guess he can. Just don't break anything… important." I'm only half joking.

She nods, and then redirects her attention at my bow. "You know Hawkeye. You should probably look into better ways to assemble trick arrows. They're gonna cost you something valuable in the field, if you have to keep screwing them on manually." I shrug.

I know her advice is sound, but I haven't found anything close to a solution yet. "I'll look into it. It's agent Barton by the way. It's stupid to keep addressing each other with codenames." She nods her head, cocking it a little side-ways, "Then you may call me Romanoff. Agent Romanoff. Call me recruit and I'll cut your dick off." I almost swallow. Almost.

"Deal," I answer instead, leaving for lunch.

I run into Fury on my way back from the cafeteria. He, in no uncertain terms, tells me that he is still running the show until further notice, meaning Romanoff will be staying with the recruits until he says so. I guess he's in a worse mood than Phil suspected.

So Agent Romanoff's sleeping quarters are officially alongside the recruits. Unofficially though… We quickly fall into an uneasy routine as the days pass. She keeps sneaking away after light's out and breaking into my apartment to use the guest room.

The second night she nearly gives me a heart attack. But, after a while, I just accept it. What helps is the readily brewed coffee waiting for me as I wake up in the morning, the only sign of her ever being there. Sometimes I think it's that same coffee, which allows her to break my lock, without me complaining.

Sometimes I think she breaks it on purpose. And after the fifth or sixth replacement, I just give her my spare keys. Of course Natasha either can't or won't hide her absence from her room every night and the other recruits catch on quickly. A few whispered words in the right ears a few days later, has Fury throwing his hands in the air and giving her the empty apartment next to mine.

Of course he tells me any shit she pulls is on me. I can't get myself to really care either way, as I'm doing my utter best to hold in my laugh. She has us all wrapped around her every whim, and we haven't even noticed it.

It's around the third month after Romanoff arrived, that Fury decides she's trustworthy enough to be allowed official status as shield agent. Of course, she still has to go through the final evaluation.

The night before the week all her evaluations will be held in, she arrives at my door. Again. She's been using her own apartment up until now, only opting for my guest room if she suffered a particularly bad nightmare. Of course I never ask her why she still shows up sometimes, and she never brings it up. But we both know not to ask questions we already have answers to. It's just a waste of time.

So it's not too abnormal for her to be at my door, but it is unusual for her to knock before entering. I open the door; "Yeah?" I ask her when just keeps standing there, instead of entering.

Finally she moves, wrapping her arms around my waste for a second, before releasing me. "I don't understand why you gave me a chance. But I wanted to thank you," she tells me, looking me straight in the eye. Then the tension seems to leave her as she heads straight for my kitchen.

When I don't follow immediately, she turns her head slightly, "We need to talk. Are you coming or not?"

When I've made us both a mug of coffee, her wrinkling her nose at the first sip, even though I know I made it exactly the way I know she would've, I sit down and wait for her to start. Whatever it is, something has her tensing up subconsciously.

"Remember the agents we fought in Budapest?" she finally asks. I nod my head, "Yeah, they were Hydra impersonators, right? S.H.I.E.L.D's been following a group like theirs for a while now. They operate remarkably similar to the original Nazi division," I remember her desperate look when she basically begged me to shoot her and not give them the satisfaction of killing the Black Widow.

"That's because they are the original Nazi division," I snort my coffee through my nose, spluttering as I try to breathe through my surprise. "Excuse me?" no way. Hydra's been a dead operation since, well, since before I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. "Hydra is not dead. They operate from the shadows now, but they are by no means… dead. They switched alliances from Germany to Russia, working mainly for the KGB now," she informs me.

"I told Fury that I would help take down Red Room for him. But I need you to know, I'm going to take down more than just the Red Room. I didn't tell Fury about Hydra, because he's not ready to hear his first mission had been a semi-failure. But if you're gonna be my partner, you need to know exactly what kind of shit-show were gonna be walking into come next week."

I rub over my eyes with my hands, trying to think through the oncoming headache. "If you don't want any part in this, I can drop you off somewhere after we dealt with the Red Room, and I'll come find you after… if I made it out alive," she goes on when I still don't say anything. That draws a reaction from me.

"No! Nonononono. If you're going on some suicide mission, you're going to need back up. And I'm the best back up you're going to get. We'll go on together. But can I at least tell Phil? If we don't make it, S.H.I.E.L.D needs to know one of their greatest threats is still alive, and Phil will know how to break it to Fury. But Widow, if you ever withhold information like that again, from me or Phil or Fury…" she cuts into my threat.

"…You won't do anything. I am a spy and an assassin. I'll always be withholding information. But I promise to share info that could lead to you or S.H.I.E.L.D getting hurt if I kept it a secret. And if you can't deal with that, then I'm sorry, but this partnership will never work out." I'm about five breaths from pissed, when my brain kicks in.

She's being honest enough to tell me that she won't always be honest. She's not making any false promises or skirting around the truth. Right now is probably the most brutally honest she'll ever be. So if she says she'll share if we need to know, I'll trust her to know when to share. I nod my head.

She still stares me down for a few extra seconds, making sure I understand. "You can tell agent Coulson," I nod again, and stand up from the table. I need to tell Phil now. He's always been my best bet when it came to altering the mission enough to add in an errand or two, without catching the suspicion of the higher ups.

As I pass through the doorway though, a knife goes flying past my head, lodging itself into the wall behind me. I stop walking, staring at it, then her. My eyebrows rise incredulously as I try not to show my surprise. "Only agent Coulson," her tone is unapologetic.

As it turns out, Phil is okay with it. "But Barton… you have to realize that if anything goes sideways while you guys are on your… other errands, I can't send a team in after you. You'll have no back-up," he says it in his mildly worried way. I nod my head, "Duly noted," and leave.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Previously:**_

 _ **As I pass through the doorway though, a knife goes flying past my head, lodging itself into the wall behind me. I stop walking, staring at it, then her. My eyebrows rise incredulously as I try not to show my surprise. "Only agent Coulson," her tone is unapologetic.**_

 **As it turns out, Phil is okay with it. "But Barton… you have to realize that if anything goes sideways while you guys are on your… other errands, I can't send a team in after you. You'll have no back-up," he says it in his mildly worried way. I nod my head, "Duly noted," and leave.**

Chapter 7

Romanoff's week of testing is quick yet sluggishly long, as we use our evenings to plan with Phil. We'll need a solid plan to take down the red room, but unbridled genius if we're to take down the KGB's division of HYDRA along with the red room.

Finally we're in the weapons room, grabbing our general gear, before moving to the special weapons section, where I retrieve my bow and quiver.

"Oh yeah, I'd head down to the R&D department before boarding the hellicarrier, if I were you," she tells me mysteriously. My eyebrows rise. I want to ask her what she's talking about, but she's already gone to do her own last minute checks.

So I decide to follow her advice, and ask a random desk-jockey to direct me to the R&D department. I didn't even know we had one.

"So, you're bird boy?" a techie asks me when I arrive. "Huh?" I reply eloquently. "Agent Romanoff sent you?" he asks in a more composed tone. "Yeah" I answer absentmindedly, following him as he walks to a desk at the far back end of the room.

"We developed some new gear for you to try out," he tells me, handing me an empty quiver and a bundle of arrowless shafts. I look at it, frowning. The techie seems disappointed at my apparent lack of understanding.

"She said you would know what they're for?" he mutters to himself. "I know what they are," I reply snappishly. "I just don't get why they're missing a lot of key components." He seems to sigh at my apparent stupidity.

"A demonstration then," he takes the quiver from me. "There's a wheel on the bottom here," he tilts the quiver a little to show me, "and a narrow groove inside, over here," he continues, pointing to the inside of the quiver. He then takes one of the arrow shafts. "Put it in the quiver, and it will slide into the groove, where an arrowhead will attach mechanically." There's a soft whirring sound as he slides the shaft into the groove, and when the shaft is pulled out, it has an arrow head. I nod dumbly.

As innovating as I'm sure they think it is; I'm certain it would be easier if arrows come already fully assembled. I'm about to question their logic, when the techie continues.

"On default, the quiver will deposit normal arrows. The dial is for the specialty arrows you seem to favor. You can always come back to add more arrow types, but right now we added two specialty types. The dial is for choosing the kind of arrow you want. It will click to let you know an arrowhead is aligned for attachment. The three protrusions next to the dial tell you what kind of arrow is in place. The first indicates a normal arrow, the second an explosive, and the third is a grappling hook."

He demonstrates this by turning the dial. Each time it turns, one of the three protrusions lifts. "It will load the same type of arrowhead you selected until you run out of that type, after which it will fall back to the default normal arrow."

I almost smile. This is kind of genius. "What's the holding capacity of the quiver?" The techie puts the quiver down and goes to a nearby cupboard while answering. "It holds around fifty arrowheads. Right now there are 40 normal and 8 exploding arrows, and 2 grappling hooks. You can reload if you run out," he tells me, handing me the three circular disks he retrieved from the cupboard. They look like the bottom of the quiver.

"You can reuse a normal arrowhead if it's not damaged in any way, but I'd only do that in extreme emergencies if I were you. Just place the arrowhead in the correct position. You'll see each spot is marked to indicate the type. Screwing on new cylinders take around the same time as reloading your average fire-arm would, so allow time for that in the field." I look down at the narrow groove, before regarding an arrow shaft.

"How am I supposed to carefully position each and every shaft in the groove in the middle of… say… a shoot-out? I can't exactly be distracted with loading my bow during a mission?" He shakes his head, "Don't worry about it. You just have to place the arrows in the quiver, since they'll line up with the groove automatically, allowing you to take arrow after arrow until you're out. It's a new technology we've been developing for something else this past year. There's around 250 shafts, so you probably won't run out, but they can reload too if you do. I promise we've tested the technology thoroughly, so you shouldn't run into any problems. You should probably start moving since I think the hellicarrier was scheduled for take-off five minutes ago…"

"Thanks, whoever designed this should get a reward," I tell him, slinging the empty quiver over my shoulder before adding the rest to my half-full gear bag. On my way out, I hear laughter behind me. "Wait, she didn't tell you?" I turn around, "Who? Tell me what?"

"Agent Romanoff, sir. She gave us the already fully-drawn schematics and told us to get our asses into gear. We only used the technology available to put everything together. She was bloody terrifying at first, by the way. Told me to tell you she wasn't going to keep covering your ass just because you like it old-fashioned."

A little stunned by that I keep on walking, before being brought to a halt again, "Oh and I almost forgot. Once you retract an explosive arrowhead, you might want to shoot it immediately, since it has a fifteen second unstoppable timer which sets off the moment it leaves the quiver…" Filing the info away somewhere in my head, I leave the room with a barely audible "Fantastic."

When I get to the hellicarrier, the pilot is giving me a pissed-off look, which I salute sarcastically when he's within range of normal eyesight. We depart almost immediately after I board.

Romanoff smirks at me when I lift an eyebrow in question. "Hope it helps," she tells me. I smile, "Thank you. I had been trying to find a solution for a while now, but nothing seemed to work." She nods.

"How did you even know we had an R&D lab?" Regarding me seriously, she explains. "Barton, you're in a multiple story building, filled with people. What do buildings crammed with people have in common?"

I think about it, but can't come up with a sensible answer. So I fall back on snark, "Sucky air conditioning…" Her smile widens, "Which means?" I think about hating air conditioning and all the microbes probably growing in the… "Air vents?" I ask, not smelling what she's cooking.

"And how big are air vents?" she continues. But she doesn't really need to, since my brain kicks in seconds before she speaks. I raise an eyebrow, "You're not serious! You've been crawling around up there? But why?"

Her smile drops then, "peace, solidarity, info?" she lists absentmindedly. I think about it. It makes a lot of sense. No one would ever expect anyone in their own damned roof! That's what hallways are for.

I nod in approval, "Smart." I'm kind of latching onto the idea the more I think about it…

"Your little not-so-safe house had air vents too you know…" No way! No fucking way!

"You could have killed me that whole time? Why didn't you?" I demand. She shrugs and answers my question with her own, "Why didn't you?" We both fall silent then, lost to our own thoughts.

A/N

I just wanted Natasha to be the reason Clint has such awesome gear. Luckily for me this is FanFiction so I can actually make that happen.

Also, yeah it would have made more sense if Clint developed his habit for air vents during his stay at the children's home as a kid or at the circus. But also, I thought it would be cool if they developed into the super people we see today, because of their influence on each other, and not because of what they went through growing up. And again, thank you FanFiction for allowing me to do that.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Previously:**_

" _ **Your little not-so-safe house had air vents too you know…" No way! No fucking way!**_

" _ **You could have killed me that whole time? Why didn't you?" I demand. She shrugs and answers my question with her own, "Why didn't you?" We both fall silent then, lost to our own thoughts**_.

Chapter 8

It's snowing and cold as shit when we're dropped a few miles from where our safe house has been set up.

And even worse, we still have a river to cross. Fantastic. When we get to the river, I let out a small sigh of disappointment. I was hoping that the river would be frozen over, allowing us to just walk over it.

But it's still flowing, hinting at the fact it's not exactly mid-winter yet. Crossing it will be like an extreme adrenaline junkie's idea of the ice bucket challenge. And I am no extreme adrenaline junkie, contrary to popular belief.

But we don't waste time hesitating. I let Romanoff handle the water-proofing of all our sensitive gear, while I go to judge where our best chances of crossing over safely will likely be. Crossing at this time of year could be extremely dangerous, so I have to take into account a few factors, for instance current strength, while making a guess at river depth.

Even though the river is fucking freezing, we've both been submitted to similar conditions more than once in our lives, so we know to grit our teeth and make it to the other side as fast as possible.

When we finally reach the abandoned cabin that is to be our safe house, I go straight for the shower, not really caring about anything other than getting warm as fast as possible.

I haven't even opened the faucet yet, when Romanoff is pounding on the bathroom door. "Damnit Barton! Stop being a child and get your ass out of that shower!" I open the faucet and wait for the water to come out. "Yeah? Why? So you can hog it for yourself? No way, if you want in you can join."

She opens the door as the water finally comes spraying out. I yelp, more at the frigid temperature than her entrance. She's a damned assassin. She's seen men naked, while slitting their throats. "Yeah, you frickin' idiot. No one's been here for a while. I'm surprised the pipes are working, but if you were counting on warm water you're out of luck." When I jump out with a pained "Shit, that's cold!" she's shaking her head, though I don't know if it's in humor or exasperation. "Here," she says, throwing a towel I hadn't noticed she'd brought with, at me.

I'm about to thank her, but she's already ducking out the door again, and I'm starting to feel a little mortified. So I dry off and am about to get dressed, when I realize I haven't taken my shit with me in my mad dash for the shower.

"There's only one room, and your dry clothes are waiting there. There's a fireplace in the sitting room, which I already started and coffee should be ready in a few," she tells me when I finally come out. I just stare at her in half slack-jawed awe, half leftover mortification. She literally has everything figured out and set up already, while I'm still cold, shivering and standing around like an idiot.

"Stop looking like a kicked lost puppy and get your pathetic ass to warmth!" I shake my head and do as she directed. A few minutes later I'm dressed in a new set of clothes and snuggled into the couch with a blanket wrapped around me, coffee in my hands.

Romanoff joins me after changing and getting our coffee, and is now in the opposite corner, leaning into the armrest. I have to admit that just sitting like this gets kind of boring, so I poke her foot with my toe.

She gives me a 'death would be kinder than what I'll do if you keep that up' look, so I lift my eyebrows and smirk in challenge. Her face twists into this predatory grin, which kind of sends chills down my spine, so I throw my hands into the air immediately and jerk my foot as far away from her as I can go.

She curls back into her corner again as soon as she ascertains that I'm not going to try poking her again. The way she moves catches my attention though. It always has, but for some reason I only notice it now, here on the couch where movement like that shouldn't be anything but awkward. And yet still, she moves with grace, like a feline softly weaving through the grass, on the hunt for prey. It's sort of mesmerizing, the way she curls in on herself again.

I could watch her for hours, but I had better find something else to do besides staring at her, or else she might decide to do something about my scrutiny.

And since I love all my bits in their correct places, I opt for a distraction, "Can we play a game?"

She raises an eyebrow, "What kind of game?" I think about it. It would have to be something entertaining, which won't result in my ultimate demise.

"Well, how about truth or dare?" I ask. "You really have a death wish, don't you? You'd never make my dares," she mutters. It's silent for a while, as I contemplate another game. She surprises me by speaking again. "I have a suggestion," I sit up a little straighter.

"Ever heard of two truths and a lie?" I grin, straightening up completely. "Okay, who goes first?" She smirks in answer


	9. Chapter 9

_**Previously:**_

" _ **Well, how about truth or dare?" I ask. "You really have a death wish, don't you? You'd never make my dares," she mutters. It's silent for a while, as I contemplate another game. She surprises me by speaking again. "I have a suggestion," I sit up a little straighter.**_

" _ **Ever heard of two truths and a lie?" I grin, straightening up completely. "Okay, who goes first?" She smirks in answer.**_

Chapter 9

"My favorite color is red. I was born in Russia. And my name, my true name, is Natasha Romanoff."

I think about it, frowning, "Your name is a lie. That is the Americanized version of your name. You could easily lie about colors. In addition, just because you're Russian doesn't mean you're born in Russia. Damnit! They all sound like lies… it's you name, right? It has to be a lie."

She inclines her head slightly. "Yeah, I have grown to love my trademark color, and I was born in Russia. Your turn."

I think for a moment, and then smile. It's impossible for her not to sniff out a lie, since she's the Black Widow after all. However, I will give it my best shot.

"My name is Clinton Francis Barton, and I have an older brother. I was raised in the circus," I give myself a mental pat on the shoulder.

She answers immediately, an amused tone to her voice. "Oh, come on Barton. I read your file. You were not born or raised in the circus. It was your last stop before being pulled into your current line of business."

I give her a pout. "That's cheating. How did you get eyes on my file anyway?"

She smirks. I swear it's becoming her default expression. "I asked Coulson. I laughed when I saw your full name. And… my full name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova."

"Coulson is the lie. He would never divulge information on me without asking my permission first," I say bluntly. She nods her head, letting me know I chose the correct statement.

"I knew what your real name was. I love puppies… and my codename is a leftover from my circus years."

She frowns, "You don't like puppies? Funny. I would have pegged you for the puppy kind of guy…"

Maybe she isn't invincible. "I do love puppies! They're all fuzz and cuteness!" She frowns, "But you got your codename from your circus years and there's no way you couldn't have known my name already… wait, you didn't know my name?"

"Yahtzee."

She shrugs, "Well, you know now. Wasn't much of a secret anyway though. Why didn't you know?"

"You have so many identities that S.H.I.E.L.D is still figuring out which is real," I tell her honestly. She nods her head.

"I have trouble separating the truths from my own lies sometimes. I've never worked well with a partner, and… I'm not afraid of spiders."

"Come on Romanoff. You can do better than that. You're afraid of spiders? Seriously?" She smirks victoriously, letting me know I got it wrong.

"Okay, so you're not afraid of spiders, at all? I know for a fact your partners tend to have a higher than thou mortality rate… so the other one. You've never tripped over a lie before, never accidentally confused identities?" She shrugs, shaking her head slightly. Damn.

"I'm impressed. My coffee is cold, and I hate the cold," she looks straight at me.

"Your coffee isn't cold. You finished it a while ago. I noticed when you stopped sipping. You like the cold?"

I chuckle. I thought I had this round in the bag. Turns out she's scary observant even while relaxed, which shouldn't really be that surprising. "I never said I liked the cold. But I don't mind it much anymore. Stake outs in the middle of the night on icy rooftops tend to do that to you," I divulge. She nods her head in a touché manner.

"Last one, I'm tired, my coffee is finished. I think we might work well as partners."

I answer immediately, "Your coffee is still half-full. You barely took a sip from it." She raises an eyebrow, taking a sip, and makes a face at the lukewarm temperature. "You think we might make a good team?" I ask her.

"Let me illustrate it to you. How about I give you another three statements and you pick out the lie. Besides you, I never sleep in another person's apartment because of nightmares. Besides you, I've never willingly divulged information to a partner, even if my withholding it put their lives at risk. You weren't the only reason I joined S.H.I.E.L.D."

I try to find words, but struggle. After a moment of silence I finally speak up, "You only joined S.H.I.E.L.D because of me? Didn't you have any other reasons?"

"No. You were the first person I fought alongside, whom didn't get in my way, and covered my every move. For only that I would have strongly considered joining. But you were so much more than that. You fought with purpose, as if you believed in what you fought for. It caused me to rationalize that an agency which gave you that kind of purpose wouldn't be a bad idea to join. I knew Hydra was already inside S.H.I.E.L.D, but you made me realize that S.H.I.E.L.D might just be the exact opposite of Hydra. So I joined knowing I might have a partner I could work with for the first time in a long line of partnerships."

I smile a little at that, "Thank you." She frowns, "For what?"

Sighing I close my eyes slightly, "For giving me a chance to be your partner. For joining S.H.I.E.L.D when you didn't have to. For believing S.H.I.E.L.D might be different. Thank you."

"Yeah, sure, just don't go crying on my shoulder or anything. We should probably get to bed," she shrugs it off, moving to get up.

"I'm too tired to go anywhere, so you can keep the bed while I take the couch," I tell her, spreading my body across the couch. She nods and moves away with her blanket, as she heads for bed.

I drift slightly into sleep, when a sudden heavy weight lands on me. I reach over to find a large pile of blankets, which could obviously have only come from one person. I sit slightly up to thank Romanoff, but she's already halfway out the door. "So you don't freeze your ass of," she throws over her shoulder, giving me a small smirk as she heads for the room.

Grumbling a little, I unfold the blankets and snuggle into them, falling into unconsciousness easily once I'm done. I never told her, but she eases my nightmares with her presence. I've never slept as well as I do when she takes over my guest room.

It must be a few hours before dawn, when I wake up a little. Hearing a slight shuffling noise below me, I look down, and there lies Romanoff wrapped in all her blankets, with a pillow wedged under her head. She must have moved to the lounge again sometime during the night.

I sigh and pull the blanket back over her where it exposed her shoulder to the cold air. Before I can pull back my arm though, she has a hand wrapped tightly around my wrist, blank eyes staring dangerously up at me. "Easy Romanoff. You're not in danger. My name is Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye. You joined S.H.I.E.L.D a couple of months ago and were cleared for duty. We are now on a mission in Russia, preparing to take down the red room, along with Russia's division of Hydra. You're my partner and said we worked well as a team," as I talk her eyes clear.

Finally she snaps out of it, releasing my wrist. "I said we could be a good team, not that we are one already. There's a difference." I chuckle at her logic, rolling onto my back as I give my heart a chance to recover from its recent 'oh-shit-I'm-dead' frenzy. For a second there I fully believed she would kill me with a hidden spoon or something. "You know, next time you decide my heart needs exercise, we could totally just go for a jog or something…"

"This never happened," she states, making her way out of the room. "Calm down, Romanoff. Shit happened. You don't want to deal with it. We'll keep it that way until you want to talk about it," I reassure her.

"Natasha," I stare at her, quirking an eyebrow, "You can call me Natasha. We were way past last names anyway," she tells me, squeezing my arm slightly as she leaves. She comes back a few minutes later with freshly brewed coffee. "If you're Natasha, can I be Clint?" I ask her jokingly.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Previously:**_

" _ **Natasha," I stare at her, quirking an eyebrow, "You can call me Natasha. We were way past last names anyway," she tells me, squeezing my arm slightly as she leaves. She comes back a few minutes later with freshly brewed coffee. "If you're Natasha, can I be Clint?" I ask her jokingly.**_

Chapter 10

The next day we go scouting, edging around the outer boundaries of the facility, and getting a general lay of the land. We incorporate the new intel into our plan, and add newfound entrances and exits.

We eat canned food and spaghetti for dinner. When bedtime rolls around, Natasha is about to head back to the room to get more blankets and pillows, when she looks back at me.

"You know, there's a king-sized bed in that room. It's a lot more comfortable than both the ground and your couch. I'm certain it can support both our weight."

I look at her hesitantly, but grab the bedding in the lounge and follow her in the direction of the bedroom. Natasha is already dressed in her nightwear; grey leggings and a long-sleeved black nightshirt, when I head for the bathroom to change.

When I got back, she's sitting on one side, turning a knife end over end in her hand. "I don't feel comfortable sleeping without it. But I'm afraid if I attack you again and it's within my reach, you'll wake up with a knife lodged in your chest."

I gulp. Well, at least she's honest. "Keep it. If you actually manage to stab me during the course of the night my skills aren't worth a damn, so I'd probably deserve it," I tell her with a semi-straight face.

She nods, sliding the knife into a hidden holder strapped to one leg of the bedside table. I add all the blankets I can possibly fit onto the bed, distributing them equally between the two of us, before slipping under the sheets on my side. She turns on her side, facing me, before closing her eyes.

Her breathing eases as she gives in to sleep. I suddenly realize the amount of trust she must have in me, if she falls asleep in my presence that easily, especially since I'm still awake and fully conscious. "Stop over-analyzing and shut your eyes Barton," she says in a sleepy whisper from her side of the bed.

I smile, "I thought we passed last names?" I whisper back. "Not when you're supposed to be sleeping, instead of staring at my forehead," I frown.

"How would you know what I was staring at? Your eyes are closed," queue my amazing observation skills and night vision. "My boobs are below the blankets, along with the rest of my body. The only thing for you to stare at is my forehead," and there goes my questionable deductive skills, all washed down the drain.

She's right of course, but I like arguing, especially when I'm functioning on a sleepy mind. "How do you know I'm not staring at your hair? Is that shade of red even natural?" I muse.

This time her eyes do flicker open. "Go to sleep Clint. You're testing my patience," I give her a full-on grin. "What now?" she sighs long-sufferingly.

"That's the first time you called me Clint," I tell her, my eyes shutting of their own volition. I feel the bed move slightly as she punches her pillow into submission. "Child!" but her tone of voice is more indulging amusement than irritable sarcasm. So I let her have the last word, and drift to sleep.

When we wake up, we start our preparations for the main part of the mission. We already decided on attacking once night fell, to give us the best chance of reaching the base.

So we both pack our gear in silence and move towards the outer boundary of the Red room.

The day will be passed scouting the outer boundaries and learning the exact patterns of the outer guards, as well as working out how many guards we'll have to take down.

It means I'll be lying in the snow, freezing my butt off for quite a while before its dark enough for us to make our move.

We've been lying in the snow for the better part of the day, calling out patterns and strays as we notice them, when Natasha decides to move in for a closer vantage point, pointing me to a nearby tree as she's about to leave.

We split off and keep contact through our comms through the rest of the daylight hours. At some point I get bored with the general "Status… Alert and Ready," reply protocol, so we start playing a twisted game of 'I spy' instead.

It keeps us busy, along with maintaining our awareness of each other's status.

"I spy a snake pissing against the fence," I tell her, watching the base with my riflescope. I only have the scope with me, since I'll be using my arrows and two handguns concealed in my tactical wear only.

"True. I spy his trigger-happy partner," she replies. I move my scope to the partner to see she's right. His gun is up and pointing jerkily at anything that dares to move. The trigger-happy comes from two visual cues; his safety is off, and his finger is resting heavily on the trigger.

Sure enough, five seconds later and he accidentally shoots five rounds into the snow. "True. I spy a pissed off superior," I continue. "Lie," she retorts, "You're guessing the boss will be pissed."

"Touche," I edge my scope around the base to see if I can locate the boss, but no dice. "Hey, I say we attack that gate first if we're still planning on stealth. If we cause any commotion we can just blame Mr. Trigger-happy."

"Since he's been periodically shooting off rounds on five separate occasions now, I'm guessing he's a newbie. There will be someone more experienced with him, but we should be able to take them down before they raise the alarm. Okay, it's dark enough to start moving. You better have my back," I can see her figure detaching from the shadows as she stalks closer to the base.


End file.
